Hundreds of babies smuffled in wool and stuffed into a freezer bag. In the stroller. Prone.
They look warm and I get jealous.
We got here yesterday in record time. Chase picked us up promptly at 8 as he had scheduled. Promptly at 9:15.
We went to the McDonald's drive-thru. For 30 minutes. We made sure that we received all the food we ordered so as not to have a repeat of the Taco Bell fiasco.
Then we were off. Off and running to half a block up the street where we stopped at the bp to get creamer for Brett's coffee.
Then we were off. For 7 miles until Brett decided that McDonald's coffee was just really not worth drinking so we pulled over to a Dunkin' Donuts and got new.
.............
We stopped a few more times because I get a real kick out of the service stations devoted to historical figures that decorate the Jersey Turnpike. I feel as though most of them would have wished for something loftier to bear their name. My favorite is the Clara Barton. I may have imagined it, but I think one of them is the Molly Pitcher. This is because there was a red/orange hardback biography of her at my local library growing up that I read repeatedly. Also the book about birthing kittens.
There was a heated debate in the bowels of Clara Barton about the hotness quotient of Ashley Tisdale. We worked the Washington Post crosswords. We arrived in record time. Well, not record for me personally. I can squeal in in a shade under 5 hours when I really set my mind to it.
Due to the prestige of Dan Kniffen we are staying in the Princeton Club. This is a very ritzy hotel located beneath several layers of dung-strewed scaffolding. Complete with butler, dozens of oil paintings of old men and brown leather studded sofas. We are the only ones here under 90. When Brett and I walked in this evening we were apprehended by security thinking we were young upstarts sneaking in to diddle with the old folks.
The room has king sized bed that folds up into the wall. This is called a Murphy bed I think. I will ask Tom.
I had been having a personal temper tantrum for two days dreading the cold in New York. I was naturally fine. Chase was jibbering away about how cold he was. Ali could not feel her feet AT ALL by the time we were in for the evening. The boys were out trolling for milk and pizza so we went to the hotel and soaked Ali's feet in some warm water. They retained nervelessness and turned an enchanting shade of eggplant. All except her toes, which still resembled bloated baby seals.
I digress.
We tried to win the Wicked lottery. There was naturally a record number of participants. We did not win. We did manage to go backstage and come out 3 loaves of Christmas bread ahead.
Chase's world was shattered when we attempted the TKTS booth only to find that the only shows available were Boeing Boeing and Harriet Tubman and the Underground Railroad. (I should point out here that there is nothing wrong with Harriet Tubman and the Underground Railroad. It just fails to contain nude swingset sex or shaking leaking maraca-breasted Puerto-Ricans.)
Chase spent the remainder of the evening bemoaning his fate. What had once been a vacation that gleamed with the promise of seeing SEVEN shows was now a vacation which could only promise Scrabble at best.
Every 37 minutes or so though, he would rally and with a burst of enthusiasm exclaim something like "Oh but you know what!!! I bet not a lot of shows had a show tonight! It will all be fine tomorrow!!!" Followed in the next hour with another bout of bemoaning, etc.
He turned out to be exactly right.
Today Ali won the Shrek lottery, so Chali are seeing that tonight.
Brett and I ordered room service because I had never done that. I ordered french toast. Which arrived on a plate with lots of worthless rinds and flowers, which I promptly pitched into the gravy boat. Brett got Cream of Wheat. Which I personally feel was a waste of room service. Bill Cosby does not like Cream of Wheat.
Sam and I had big plans to view Liza Minnelli tonight. I got especially excited when I came within sight of her billboard in Times Square on which she is slimy with the oil of chorus boys and appears to have raccoon feet stapled onto her eyelids.
After I popped by the box office though, and discovered several people already in line at 10:30am for the 8pm show, I dismissed that option.
Brett and I decided to attend August: Osage County. Everyone I have spoken to about the show just loved it and said they laughed and laughed. So, despite it being longer that Cyrano de Bergerac (the end of the run version) we went.
NOT a comedy. We nearly left after the first act. The performances were really splendid, but nothing overly interesting had happened. However, because I knew if I stood up I would have to go to the bathroom violently, we decided to give Act II a chance. They really ramp up the stakes in Act II. By Act III grandmothers are screaming "FUCK" and shattering crockery.
Long.
Left there, ate a sandwich featuring crust that cut me behind my teeth.
Am now back in the hotel. There is a squishy foam hard hat here. I don't know where it came from but I think I am going to take it.
5 comments:
I just checked the weather channel and the high is going to be a whopping 37 degrees in NY today! Remind me to tell you about the winter weekend Janine and I spent in the city. It involved Benadryl, walking pneumonia, and falling asleep during Hedda Gabler.
See Mary Poppins and tell me what you think. I have tickets for next weekend.
Have fun kids! Be good. xoxox, Mom
I thought Ashley Tisdale was hot until I saw her on the cover of Shape (or some similar sweat-oriented publication). Now, not so much.
mary poppins i did not squeeze in. but they have a new mary. it is not training anymore. and the ashley tisdale hot scale is now successfully tipped to the non-hot side.
It is indeed called a Murphy bed.
I personally thought August: Osage County was one of the most incredible shows I've seen on any stage, any where. But, I'm not a musical theatre person like you Audra, so our opinions here will likely differ. But I'm glad you stayed for the second and third acts. It's to me an incredible parable of the dysfunctional family in modern American society, juxtaposed against the timeless traditions cherishing family ties such as those seen in Native American culture represented by the housekeeper. Of course, the set itself - messy, multiple angles, disjointed, layers of books and papers disguising hidden things - represents the family's problems. The Native American housekeeper's room, neat and orderly and centered in the home's apex at top of the set, represents the orderly and natural family values of her culture. But most of all, there were the incredible ensemble performances, led by the unbelieveable Estelle Parsons. Just amazing.
Robyn, remember that same weekend I forgot to pack underpants and a belt, and we sent 25 postcards to Steve Perigard. Good times.
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